


Stand on up and take a bow

by 7iris



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2010 Winter Olympics, F/M, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Team Canada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm talking booze, people randomly making out, everybody else cheering them on. And that was the PG stuff. Then everything went inside."</p><p>-- Bobby Ryan on the Olympic Village after the men's hockey gold medal game in Vancouver</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand on up and take a bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athenejen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenejen/gifts).



> As part of the Hockey RPF Exchange, for the prompt, _public or semi-public sex [...] set after the gold medal game in either 2010 or 2014. Can involve players (of any gender) from any national team._
> 
> Bobby Ryan's quote from [this article](http://espn.go.com/olympics/summer/2012/story/_/id/8133052/athletes-spill-details-dirty-secrets-olympic-village-espn-magazine). Thanks to secrethappiness for the beta!

The dry lounge doesn't stay dry for long after the gold medal game.

By the time Sid gets there, the party is in full swing. Beer and champagne and cigar smoke are everywhere, and the music is pumping, loud and bass-heavy. People are dancing, grinding up on each other. 

"Sid!" Bergy shouts, throwing an arm around his neck. 

He holds a bottle of champagne out and Sid takes it, drinks straight from the bottle.

He feels like he's got champagne running through his veins, dizzying and sparkling, fizzing with adrenaline and victory. He can't stop grinning. 

"Sid!" It's Stammer this time, and Sid's grin gets wider. Stammer wraps him up in a bear hug. "Holy fucking shit, gold medal, man!"

Sid laughs, squeezes him back. "Where did you come from?"

Stammer steps back and jerks his thumb towards the crowd of people. "Richie got us in. I think you could flash a gold medal and get a busload of strippers in here."

Sid looks over, and sees Richie dancing with Carts. Carts has one hand on Richie's hip, pouring champagne into Richie's open mouth.

Flower wriggles his way out of the crowd and Sid's grin gets so wide it starts to hurt. Flower kisses him on the cheek, right-left-right, and then right smack on the mouth. Sid scrunches his face up, giggling.

"Oh, are we at the kissing part now?" Bergy asks. He doesn't wait for an answer, just ducks in and presses his mouth against Sid's, warm and soft. 

Everyone wants to kiss Sid for that golden goal. On the cheek, on the mouth, on the side of his head. All of the women's and half the men's curling teams kiss him. 

Mostly it's friendly. Sometimes they slip him a little tongue. Getzy kisses absolutely filthy, with a wicked, daring grin. Shea is sweet, and Sid feels like he could make out with him for hours. Lu dips him like they're in a Gene Kelly movie, and Sid is laughing, clutching Lu's shoulder for balance when their mouths meet.

Sid kisses people until his mouth tingles, until his whole body feels warm and loose and floaty. 

Flower finds him again, hands him a beer. He's saying something in French, and Sid can only pick up a word here and there over the music. It doesn't matter, he understands the tone, understands the luminous grin on Flower's face, and he grins right back.

It's not just him getting kissed now, and it's not just friendly either. He's pretty sure that's Poulin making out with a snowboarder, and he is definitely sure that's Carts and Richie making out in the middle of the makeshift dance floor like nobody's watching. 

Sid's face goes hot and he glances away. 

The song changes, switches over to "Baby Got Back," and there's a huge cheer from the crowd. 

"Dance, Crosby!" someone yells in his ear. "They're playing our song."

Sid jumps, turns around. It's Szabados. She's grinning, her hair a wild cloud around her head.

"What?" Sid says.

"The universal anthem of hockey players. This, and 'My Humps.' "

Sid makes a face at her, but lets her pull him into the dancing, flailing crowd. He dances with her for a chorus, then a pair of skiers, then Lu. 

"Beauty moves!" Getzy yells at him.

"Shut up," Sid says, elbowing him, and goes to find another beer.

And then another.

When Sid wanders by the next time, Richie is talking animatedly to Toews while Carts nuzzles his throat. 

Carter's fingers are stroking over the skin where Richie's shirt has ridden up, and Richie's eyes dip shut for a second, his victory grin going soft and smug around the edges.

Carter's hand slips lower and Sid can't quite look away. Toews looks like he's biting back a laugh at the way Richie's eyes get more unfocused and he loses the thread of the conversation.

Carts gives Richie a shove and he lands in a heap on the sofa. There's some flailing of limbs, and Richie displaces Pers half-into Getzy's lap. 

Carts drops to his knees between Richie's thighs. He looks up at Richie and says something that makes Richie laugh and roll his eyes. Carts leans in and rubs his face against Richie's crotch. Richie stops laughing, his hand coming up to tangle in Carts's hair.

Oh, shit, is he, are they-- 

Sid is vaguely aware that he's staring, but he doesn't care. Carter's head is bobbing over Richie's lap, and Richie's head is thrown back against the cushions. No one else seems to care either. Toews is talking to Pers and Getzy like nothing weird's going on. People in the crowd look, and either laugh and look away, or watch and maybe grind up on someone else.

Bergy walks by behind the couch and says something to Richie. Richie doesn't open his eyes, but he holds his hand up for Bergy's high-five.

When he comes, Richie moans loud enough for Sid to hear it through the music and the crowd. Carts sits back on his heels, grabs the medal around Richie's neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

Sid takes a step back, stumbles when he bumps into someone. It's Pronger, and he's got _Hayley Wickenheiser_ with him, oh, god. She glances over his shoulder, at Carts and Richie, and then smiles at him, sly and filthy, and Sid's polite greeting gets stuck in his throat.

Pronger nudges Sid in the back. "Gold medal goal deserves a kiss, right?"

Sid feels his face turn bright red, but Wickenheiser laughs. "That does seem to be the tradition."

She steps in close, puts her hand on the back of Sid's neck. She's only a few centimeters shorter than Sid. She lifts her chin and kisses him. Her mouth is confident, easy against his. Sid lets out a tiny whimper and Wickenheiser laughs in the back of her throat. She licks into his mouth, nips his lower lip, and then lets him go with a grin.

There's an edge of something challenging in it. The crowd shifts around them, and later Sid isn't sure if he stumbles, or if his knees just go weak, but he ends up on his knees in front of her. 

He catches himself with his hands on her hips, and her smile gets wider and sharper.

Sid's whole body feels hot and electric. "Please," he says.

She tangles her hand in his hair. "Yeah?"

He nods, and she tugs him in. He rubs his face against the juncture of her thighs, through her track pants, and she rolls her hips into the pressure. He tugs on the waistband of her pants, half-waiting to be told no, but she doesn't complain. He eases her pants down, shifts closer so he can get his mouth on her. She's already wet against his tongue, slick and salty. Her hand tightens in his hair.

He drags his tongue over her clit, licks up into her hot, wet folds. She hisses in a breath, and he can feel her thighs tighten under his hands.

"Oh, Wicks, what have you got there?" someone says. "He's so pretty."

"Mmmm, yeah, right?" Wickenheiser says. She strokes his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

A wave of scalding heat slides over him and he keeps his eyes closed, doesn't look up to see who's watching him. He redoubles his efforts. His tongue and his jaw are starting to ache, and his face is a mess. He can feel spit and her slick dripping off his chin. But she's breathing fast and rough now, grinding down against his mouth.

"Ahhh, fuck," she moans, and her whole body goes rigid. He licks her through it, until she's trembling and another orgasm shudders through her.

She pushes his head away at that, and he slumps back on his heels, panting. He's achingly hard.

Wickenheiser gives him a slow smirk. "Good job, kid," she says, and he doesn't know if she's talking about his gold medal or his mouth. She pulls her pants back up and bends down to kiss him, lazy and open-mouthed. Then she pats his cheek and walks away. 

Sid closes his eyes for a second, trying to catch his breath. He lick his lips and tastes her. Holy fucking shit, he just ate _Hayley Wickenheiser_ out at the gold medal afterparty. What is his life?

Someone grabs his shoulder, pulling him to his feet. He opens his eyes and Richie grins at him.

"Way to represent the men's team," Richie says.

Sid laughs, embarrassed and disbelieving and turned on all at once. "She has more gold medals than any other Canadian," he says, and he sounds dazed even to his own ears.

Richie laughs, too. "Well, she certainly scored with you," he says.

Someone else wraps their arms around him from behind, someone tall and built, and he knows it's Carts just from the way Richie smiles over his shoulder.

"Carts sucked me off for winning a gold medal," Richie says.

Sid shivers, and he knows Carts has to feel it. "I know, I, um, saw."

Richie's smirk gets dirtier. "Carts is patriotic like that."

"Very patriotic," Carts says, a low rumble in his ear.

"And I thought, since you got me that gold medal, it would only be fair..." Richie lets it hang there.

Carts rubs his palm over Sid's hipbone and Sid fights not to push his hips up into the pressure.

"...If Carts got you off, too," Richie finishes.

Sid's breath comes in sharp and ragged. "Yeah, okay," he says.

Carts puts his hands on Sid's hips and turns him around pushing him into Richie's chest. 

Richie wraps his arms around Sid's waist, hooks his chin over Sid's shoulder.

 _Wait, here?_ Sid wants to say, but Carts smiles down at him, then leans in and kisses him.

It's slow and filthy, and Sid finds his hands tangled in Carter's shirt, finds himself kissing back without giving a fuck who's watching.

Carts palms Sid's dick through his Team Canada track pants. "Even if I'm a Flyer?" he asks with a smirk.

Sid huffs. "You're more like -- oh, fuck -- a Team Canada in-law right now," he says breathlessly.

Carts laughs and catches Richie's eye over Sid's shoulder.

"He's not wrong," Richie says.

Carts shakes his head. He slides his hand into Sid's pants, gets a good grip on Sid's cock. His hand feels huge. He strokes Sid with smooth, easy movements.

Then Richie's mouth is on him, his teeth sinking into the muscle where his shoulder meets his neck. Sid gasps and bucks up against Carter's hand.

Sid's knees feel weak and he lets himself lean into Richie. Richie's sucking a bruise into the side of his throat. The music is something syrupy and slow, with a deep, heavy beat. Sid's vaguely aware of other people dancing around them. Szabados says something as she glides by. He can hear Flower laugh, and the low, sweet murmur of Quebecois French. 

Sid's breath is coming short and fast now, and he's rolling his hips, pushing up into Carter's grip. All the restless energy that's been seething under his skin since the game is suddenly concentrated in the pit of his stomach, at the base of his spine.

His thighs shake and his muscles pull tight, and when Carts says, "That was a fucking amazing goal, Crosby," Sid comes all over his hand.

Richie's there to hold him up, against that wave of heat and sensation that spills through him.

"Fuck," Sid says, low and shaky.

"Mmm-hmmm," Richie says in his ear.

Carts gives them both a smug grin, kisses Sid lazy and slow, then kisses Richie just the same over Sid's shoulder. 

"Fuck yeah, Canada," Carts says.


End file.
